Jab Tak Is Des Me सनिमा hai…

That epic dialogue of Ramadhir Singh from the movie that deserves nomination in the Academy awards for the most kickass dialogues (if they have a category like this, like the ones we have: Kamla Pasand presents most dhaansu dialogue of the year brought to you by Birla White Wall Care Putty, Papdi ki Chhutti…), always makes me nod my head in agreement.
“Jab tak is des me सनिमा hai, log चूतिए bante rahenge”
Little did the old man know that not all the people exploit coal miners and destroy families to make a living, some people work hard to make good सनिमा for us. Whereas most of us go to an air-conditioned cubicle and spend our day staring at a screen and wondering if there is a better career in strip-dancing than content writing. In the age of Marketing, sometimes you have to sell your soul to become a Ghost Rider Writer.

Five months back when I was writing the last exam paper of my final year, I had no idea what I am going to do after this. I stopped writing and put my pen down. I looked around, it’s always satisfying to watch the next generation of responsible tax-payers in making. To watch them spilling out answers and filling dozens of pages in fear of the inevitable, ‘Log Kya Kahenge?’. Well, some of them are rather greedy but let’s just boycott them and talk about mere mortals like me and the guy who writes ‘ॐ’ on the top of the answer sheet. The first fifteen years of my life I’d spent learning just about everything, from absurd arithmetic to Akbar’s family background, from Alexander the Great to the Alexander the Graham Bell, to the guy who said that we were Apes in the past. After finishing school I had my first existential crisis when I was made to choose between subjects that I want to study and the subjects that I will mock for the rest of my life for being not tough enough and its students for being so dumb, ugly and Chartered Accountant. Once you get into high school, things are different but if you don’t make the selection wisely, she will come for you. How many times do you need to be betrayed and left alone to die in a corner bleeding alphas, gammas and sine and cos from your nostrils to realize that she hates you? That fat 500-paged Maths book of high school I carried everywhere for two years keeping it close to my heart, every time I opened it she looked straight into my eyes and grinned slyly. She enters your life innocently, with just numbers and angles and curves, looking so innocuous. Gradually she steps into your syllabus, then your life and then your worst nightmares and then she stabs you in the back and punches you in the throat at the end of the year. SCREW MATHEMATICS!

Three years back I had the liberty to decide the course that will eventually decide the brand of my car and help me find the mother of my kids, so to un-math my life I went with Mass Communication and Journalism. Three years later, I’m sitting in the examination hall, estimating the price of my kidneys. A shiver ran through my spine and I came back to the dark reality. I took up my pen, did some arm-stretching and knuckle cracking and started completing my already three-pages long answer to ‘Describe the steps involving an Ad-campaign’, repeating the same keywords ‘effective’, ‘efficient’ and ‘significant’ in every sentence.

One month later, it happened. I was summoned to the director’s office and briefed about the film. I was handed a roughly made script which looked like it had been blatantly drafted like a phone directory on an excel sheet by a three-year-old. I was also told that the latter half of the movie is going to be based on a Mythological story so the dialogues need to be in शुद्ध हिन्दी. Six days of incessant mugging, I drafted the screenplay. There wasn’t much that needed to be done with the dialogues from the first half, just a few dialogues that crossed the threshold of being cringey. I penned them down in a separate sheet. The other half I had to re-write entirely because I didn’t want Satyug people to sound like my neighbor. The Hindization of the script was done, finally, I handed them the complete screenplay of the movie. I had taken the artistic liberty to change some dialogues and they liked my work.


When the shooting began, being the Script Supervisor I basically had to make sure that everything goes by the script. I used to break down the script to the artists, make them rehearse it and listen to the dialogues while filming to ensure that no lines are missed. I also had to play and pause the music sometimes while shooting for a song when there is a shortage of crew. Filmmaking is a different world altogether. Once you witness a film being made, your perception of movies will change, you start to notice the little things, and most of all you start to appreciate shots and scenes more even though they may appear ordinary to many people, because you can now estimate the amount of effort that was required to pull that off. A day before the shoot, we were moved into a hotel, not just any ordinary hotel but a four-star suite, where invisible people take away your clothes, wash them and put them in the closet if you leave them unattended on the floor. With the huge buffet for breakfast, ‘good morning’ WhatsApp greetings started to make sense.
The very next day I realized why the producers tend to be so generous with their team. I realized why donkeys and oxen always look so sad. 15, 16 sometimes even 20 hours of waist breaking hard work, running from the film set to the vanity van and back to the set, dealing with actors who are hell-bent on not memorizing his/her lines. Keeping your eyes and ears wide open for avoiding any oversight errors and again dealing with some more sweaty panic-stricken actors. The buffet tastes ridiculous when you have a car honking and waiting for you at the door and a consistently ringing phone telling you that the call-time for today is 8 am. Every day you put on your damp innerwears and your mean face and walk up to the movie set feeling like ‘Dormammu I’ve come to bargain!’. 15 days down the line I knew I was not going to make it. I started to value my 3-4 hours of sleep time more than everything, hate human interaction and badly miss my bed. First three days I had no idea what the hell is going on, with all that people running around screaming at each other, it pretty much resembled an Indian Wedding. I met a number of interesting people and also came across some scums but largely there were good hard working people who don’t know how to calm down once the shot is ready. Gradually my body adapted, the swollen toes and the short sleeping times started to bother less and I lived the most transformative period of my life.

Three things happened:

  1. Discipline: 3o days of rigorous drudgery leaves long-lasting marks on your lifestyle. As a result, your willpower grows exponentially. Waking up early and finishing things before deadlines suddenly become your habit, unless you deliberately choose to go back to your early college lifestyle, of finishing one season of ‘The Big Bang Theory’ in one night and messing up with your sleep cycle.
  2. The Value of Money: Having spent 30 days in a hotel without spending a penny, my Mini Statement doesn’t disappoint me anymore. Besides your savings, the cheque you’ve just earned makes you feel richer than ever.

The film is about to release this November and needless to mention, I’m very excited. It’s not every day you get to see your name on a big screen.



Moral Of The Story: Life is like Filmmaking. Life till graduation is Pre-production when we plan everything and assume life is going to be smooth forever. After Graduation shit happens that you’d never planned of. None of your tricks work out and you panic. Sometimes when things fall into place without much effort, you feel like Donald Trump otherwise there is always a subjugated Lal Krishna Advani feeling coming from the deepest insecurities of your heart. Post-production is post-retirement, when you sit back, take a sip of your tea and comment on the final result ‘Yaar ye shot aur badhiya ho sakta tha!’

PS- Above description of life may vary if you’re an editor, VFX guy or Papa Ki Pari.


Midinght Thoughts

Afternoon sleep was some kind of quotidian ritualistic practice that existed back in the 90s in my town. We used to live in a joint family and coming back from school, I was usually greeted with a sight of dozing grannies and grandpas, with sheets of that day’s newspaper or TV remote by their side. Over here in Delhi, things are different, mornings don’t happen, days are hectic and nights are just full of absolute nothingness. Silence could never reach out to me in my room as there is always some old rusting vehicles passing by or a pack of jackass dogs barking on an intruder.

And in those dark hours of nothingness, I try to accomplish most of the tasks on my To Do List while I’m being lured by the biggest enemy of humanity on the face of the earth, mobile phone. An hour of intense political content writing for my employers, half an hour of reading world news and 10-15 minutes of yawning and twisting under my warm and comfy blanket, I eventually succumb to the pleasure of the dummy social life that Facebook offers. One like here, one comment there, a little chat with an old friend and when I come back to my senses, it’s already 3 am.
“Damn you, Zuckerberg!”
It’s already late and I have to wake up before eight tomorrow anyhow (stupid resolutions) but the alarm won’t work since my phone’s battery is going to die any minute, and I can’t find my charger,
oh wait! Here it is under the blanket.
But the socket near my bed is no longer working so I’ll have to plug it in the other socket, the one that is beside my water dispenser stand far far away from my hands reach…life sucks.
Stepping outside of the blanket after hours is an unsettling endeavor in itself. After 10 minutes I’m back in my bed, I lay my head on my flattened-up pillow and take a deep yawn thinking maybe if I sleep now and wake up at 8, I’ll have five hours of good slumber and I will still be ahead of schedule.

And then this happens, the most terrible bothersome infuriating obligation- nature’s call.

Why dafaq do cold temperatures gives me frequent urges to pee??????

Finally, every requirement is met, it’s already 3:30, I’m in my bed staring at the ceiling, everything is perfect…but why cannot I fall asleep?

Some twisting and turning and changing positions, not helping. Thoughts have started to pop into my head, the useless midnight thoughts…..and they follow pattern, which basically is something like this

WORK – FAMILY- FUTURE – I locked the door. Right? – MEANING OF LIFE- SEX

and the infinite loop of redundant midnight thoughts begin…

‘Why dafaq is content writing so boring? – Why do I do this job? – My father doesn’t like my job – Fathers are rude – What kind of father will I be? – Is Jackie Shroff Tiger Shroff’s real father? – There are too many forsaken kids in this godforsaken planet, no point in bringing more life here- What is the purpose of life? – Why did August Ames die so young? – What are some best sex positions? – ………’
Sometimes my thoughts take a detour and end up at ‘Ghosts, Demons, Aliens, and Monsters that hide under the bed waiting for the kids to fall asleep, and when they do; these monsters come out from under the bed, crack their skull open and devour on their brain’.

It is close to 4:30, no sign of sleep yet.

My phone is charged enough, maybe a little music will help. BIG DELIBERATE MISTAKE!

I once read an article that said listening to music can put you to sleep, only if the song you’re listening to has no words, no lyrics because words evoke emotions and emotions give rise to more thoughts. CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!

I have a beautiful playlist of such non-vocal instrumental backing music and melody sounds…from Beethoven 5th Symphony to Brian Eno’s Music for Airports and The Thieving Magpie…I tried them all.
I tried YouTube suggestions as well, Ocean Wave sounds, Rain Sounds, Old Wood Burning with Crackling Fire Sound…African Shaman Music…just about everything.
Sleep has not knocked on my head even for once yet.

I’m about to put my phone down and make another attempt to fall asleep when YouTube suggests ‘Afreen Afreen’….Man-O-Man! Who can say no to a little coke studio?

“Husn-e-jaanaan ki ta’reef mumkin nahi
Afreen afreen Afreen afreen…”

And now you’re trapped.

My mind goes…’It’s already five, if I cut off workout and morning tea from the daily routine, I can still wake up at 11 and manage to not stay behind the schedule. Just ten more minutes here on YouTube.’

When I searched about this hassle on Google, I found out that it not a very uncommon problem, actually it’s quite usual for this generation, we’re all sleep deprived insomniacs.

Maybe its just a part of human evolution and gradually we will develop night vision and start hunting at night like other creatures,
or maybe one day one of us will be so deprived of sleep that he will turn into a zombie and start eating his friends. Only time will tell. Speaking of time…

Oh shit! It’s 5:30, I’m late.


Oh My God! He is Gay

Suraj was a wonderful guy. He was the head boy in school, Mr. Fresher in the first year of college and rumour has it that he had coitus with one of the seniors.
But something happened, something that turned him from a boy next door to a social pariah.

I don’t understand the point behind making your sexual orientation public on Facebook, maybe out of frustration or intoxication or maybe sheer dumbness, but anyway he posted this ‘Yes I’m Gay and its none of your business’.

So far in my life, I’ve never invested a single thought in wondering how does it feel to be a homosexual in India, simply because all the people I knew were either straight, sapiosexual or fat virgins. It’s when I started to hear stories and jokes about Suraj and his ‘faggotry’ in the college corridor, I realized that homosexuality is one giant elephant in the room that nobody wants to address but everybody loves to joke about.
‘Why is Kevin Spacey so bad at Hide and Seek? He comes out at the wrong time.’ lol! Bro one more ‘What does Suraj and ambulance have in common? They both get loaded from the rear and go whoo-whoo!’, followed by a collective ‘hahahahahahahahaha’…

For a month, people laughed at him, someone called him ‘a chakka’ in the class, because obviously, we don’t know the difference between a transgender and a homosexual.
But this is not a biology lesson on sexuality, its a simple message to everyone reading this blog, the same thing he was trying to say ‘It’s none of our business‘;
What does one prefer in bed, what does one have in their pants…
BUTTT…we as a society cannot be completely blamed for our ignorance because our entire knowledge about homosexuality comes from Madhur Bhandarkar films and other Bollywood commercial garbage.

And that’s why we have idiots like this.

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and this


Homosexuality is against the ‘order of nature’ and is deemed illegal in India as per the Indian Constitution. However, these are some strange sculptures




Here is some good news Suraj

SC to reconsider Section 377 that criminalizes homosexuality

How being unemployed feels

Every night when you go to sleep, you fear you will end up becoming a drug-addict child-abusing primary school teacher, or worse a bank employee. That’s the fear of unemployment feeding off your dreams and goals. Things are changing, those who used to stay over and smoke a joint are now busy preparing assignments or looking for jobs with Saturdays off.
There are two types of people, one who are always prepared for everything that life throws at them, like an armed Arya Stark ready to slit the throat of Lord Baelish at the drop of a hat. The other one is of those who once in a while need to take a pause and understand what is going on in life. I’m the second kind, I’m not good with changes and I often lose track of time.


Enter a caption

Winters have arrived and brought with itself the eternal bliss of a runny nose and the joy of evening tea. Every Morning when I wake up, I see people rushing to their respective offices, students rushing to their colleges and kids just running around because they are stupid. It is chaos, but as Lord Baelish once said ‘Chaos is a ladder’. This chaotic race makes me sick to my stomach and the fact that soon I’ll have to join the minion army of uniform-clad sycophants, makes me reach for the ladder aforementioned. The ladder that always takes me to the first floor, right into my bedroom. While I’m lying in my bed trying to finish Salman Rushdie’s ‘The Golden House’, thoughts start to pop up inside my head and take my focus away.


My college has figured out the perfect way to fuck with our free time. College Assignments are inevitable drudgery we all go through but there is something special about mine. Your college assignments may require a little research, but mine takes just some Google searches and hours of scribing useless information on papers that will be sold to a junk dealer by the college for some extra profit.

To escape the harsh reality, I log in to my Facebook account and scroll through the virtual life of my fellas. It seems like everybody on the planet is having a good time, trekking, camping and all the other -ings that make me feel bad about my account balance. People posting 30 selfies with beautiful HRs of their offices on Diwali adds up to my sorrow.


And then I fall asleep, only to wake up with an unfinished book on my bed, unfinished assignments on my table and an unfinished life in which I have to deal with assholes who post 30 selfies with their HR, with the caption ‘Celebrating Diwali with a new cracker’.

The Times SHIT Fest: Indian Halloween

Here is what happens when you invite people for dinner and serve them stale sandwiches. Here is what happens when you promise people Shashi Tharoor and give them Baba Ramdev:

Like many aspiring journos, writers and other broke people, I was also standing in the crowd, in front of ‘The Rau’s IAS Study Circle Stein Auditorium’ at the Indian Habitat Centre on the first day of the Times Lit Fest 2017 waiting for the gates to open for the fifth session of the day “Towards a New India” featuring Shashi Tharoor. I was excited because I’d never seen an Indian guy speaking in British accent live. For similar reasons others were excited too and the entrance and exit of the auditorium were invisible behind the long queues of people eagerly waiting for the only living awe-inspiring Congressman of India to come and speak something about ‘How to be a progressive Indian?’
After waiting for an hour finally, the time came when curtains were expected to be raised and the Tharoorian gig was supposed to be served in front of our hungry eyes and thirsty ears. But sadly nothing like that happened.
The people sitting in the auditorium during the session previous to Shashi Tharoor’s session decided to fuck with us, the people standing outside of the auditorium, waiting for Shashi Tharoor with ants in our pants. Only a few bighearted people stood up and came out of the auditorium after the fourth session and the auditorium remained full. The outside crowd grew larger and restless and people in the front started to bang on the glass door of the ‘Rau’s IAS Study Circle Stein Auditorium’. We looked like muggles trying to invade the Wizarding World but having a hard time getting past the barrier at platform nine and three-quarters. Things were getting tense, people had started to shout and decry the management but kudos to the TLF organizing team. They came out and handled the situation wisely, telling people what went wrong and apologizing for it They sent a bunch of bouncers to guard the gates. The crowd started pushing, the bouncers pushed back and another half an hour was wasted in this tug of war in reverse. People in the crowd had no idea why they were denied entry but the TLF organizing team after making the people wait for two hours had run out of balls to say anything. The guys in the front kept asking those dudes in black why they are not letting them go inside and those bouncers looked back at them the way a buffalo looks at another buffaalo…deadpan.
The collective anger of the crowd crossed the threshold of patience and some guys from the back of the crowd started hurling the choicest abuses at the guy from the organising team who was standing on the other side of the glass door and looking at the crowd as if they were monkeys at a zoo, carrying out their monkey tricks. Some guy shouted at him to make an announcement, complemented with some reference to his female family members. Some random girl from the crowd said “Jaane do sir, hum khade hoke dekh lenge” but that organizer asshole didn’t say a word, neither did he come out of the auditorium to clarify what’s happening. People started to leave, disappointed and taken aback by the kind of irresponsibility Times of India had shown at their fuckall fest.
When the organizers realized that the glass door could break and more than a hundred people will barge in the auditorium, armed with DSLRs and Tripods and beat the Tharoor out of the organizer, one havaldar came out and said “Jagah nahi hai andar, aplog ko jana hoga!”
The Same random girl again said “Jaane do sir, hum khade hoke dekh lenge”, the guys from the front started to shout and bang on doors harder. I struggled my way out, considering the possibility of a riot that may break out, losing two buttons in the process. After waiting for two long hours, the shit fest gave us a middle finger, saying “We’re not showing Shashi Tharoor, go and watch Shobha De”.
I walked up to the bookstore, the crowd continued to shout and pester the organizer guy and his companion havaldar. While I was busy reading the epilogue of Amish’s new book, I heard slogans from the crowd “We want Shashi Tharoor! We want Shashi Tharoor!” and then “Open the Gates! Open the Gates!” in chorus and eventually came my personal favorite “Times of India Haye Haye! Times of India Haye Haye!”
As the slogans grew louder, I poured myself a cup of hot tea (free wala) and found a corner at a safe distance to get the best view of the commotion. Can’t tell you how satisfying it was to hear the Times of India Haye Haye slogan. This is what you get for selling crap as news for decades. I was half expecting the glasses to shatter and Shashi Tharoor to come out and enlighten us about something new, like how Britishers used to wipe their asses with the fine muslin woven-wear in the “Era of Darkness”, but nothing like that happened.
A lot of people gathered around to see what’s happening, Sagarika Ghose made a dramatic entry, climbed on a chair and tried to tell something to the guards in gestures, but they looked at him the same way one buffalo looks at another…deadpan. Almost the entire fest now gathered around with their free chaai in their hands enjoying the scenario, while Kamal Haasan bullshitted the rest of the people in the fest in believing that he wants to join politics to help the poor, to make a change, desperately trying to pull-off a Martin Luther King Jr.
After everything sorted out, we had to settle down for Baba Ramdev who was doing a headstand in the middle of his session and at the end of the session, he went topless and started to teach women how to do belly dance, which was equally enthralling.
The next day was pale boring, nobody looked excited. The panelists, the moderators, everybody looked exhausted and bored, compared to last year. And also last year there were free sandwiches, this year only tea…so minus five points for that. The sessions, the ones that I consciously attended worked better than any sleeping pill. Claps were slow, so were the speakers. Whether it was Owaisi talking about nationalism, or Sambit Patra glorifying Yogi Adityanath’s work in UP, nobody was putting in any energy. The one that especially disappointed me was the Big Debate on “Can there be nationhood without nationalism?” with some Big names like Swapan Dasgupta, Asaduddin Owaisi, Abhishek Manu Singhvi, Pavan Varma and Gopal Subramanian. I had expectations and you guys seemed to have your own exclusive definitions of nationalism, which pissed me off like nothing else, not even the stray dogs that somehow sneaked in the fest and started to mark their territory on the tall floodlights.
About the whole fest, can’t say much. In the Times “LITERATURE” fest, there was everything but good literature,

Thanks for the memories, Chester Bennington

Rock means screaming at the top of one’s voice with ear-shattering annoying music, that’s all I believed up until the beginning of my high schools. Rock music had already made its way into the minds and playlists of the so-called ‘cool’ kids and the cronies that followed them. I remained in my own bubble of Arijit Singh and occasional Justin Bieber and Carly Rae Jepsen, that was the time when Hip-Hop was omnipresent, Rap was trending and Punjabis had taken the responsibility of producing more rappers than their wheat-production, and Rock Music was the new cool. Somehow Linkin Park happened and it was a very enlightening phenomenon which made me look at rock music with a completely different perspective. And when I look back now, it was doorway that led to a whole new musical world of Heavy Metal, Alternative Rock, Hard Rock, Alternative Metal, Rap Rock, Electronic in Rock, songs that infuses adrenaline from your ears in your blood rushing through your veins to your heart that beats on the sound of the pure hard rock metal music, music that can bring dead back to life.

I remember the mornings I started with listening to ‘One Step Closer’ and hours I’ve spent in my washroom trying to scream
I’ve given up
I’m sick of feeling
Is there nothing you can say?
Take this all away
I’m suffocating!
Tell me what the fuck is wrong with me!
like Chester, I remember the lunch breaks in which we discussed whether your best screamer is ‘Given Up’ or ‘Numb’ or ‘One Step Closer’ and a substantial part of my growing out of teenage to an early grown-up life motivated and celebrated with your music.
If Eminem is Rap God, Chester was undisputed unbeatable God of Rock and Screaming. His piercings, his tattoos, his hair styles and his powerful ear-splitting voice will remain embedded in the history of rock music. His death is an irreparable loss to the Rock music industry and a lesson to all of us proving that no matter how big a legend you are, drugs can fuck you up, so bad that you may decide to end up your life, leaving behind an irreplaceable void.
Now when I’m writing this blog while listening to your songs, I finally realize what you meant when you said

When my time comes
Forget the wrong that I’ve done
Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed
And don’t resent me
And when you’re feeling empty
Keep me in your memory
Leave out all the rest
Leave out all the rest

You will always be there in our playlists and our hearts but Rock Music will never be the same.
RIP Chester Charles Bennington.

Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man reviewed

What would you do if you get some cool major-league superpowers like the Spidey? Fight crime? Save the world?
‘Naah! There are people who handle this sort of thing’
To show-off, to win friends and the most important, to impress a girl in high school, that’s exactly what any 15-year old would do and that’s what makes our friendly neighborhood Spider-man so special. He is not perfect, he messes up real bad, he tries hard to prove himself, he is hungry for praise, he ditches her crush on their first date, he is a jerk but he is awesome. This is not exactly a review, in its stead I’ve made a list of some of the awesome changes in the character of Peter Parker and his alter ego Spider-man Marvel has made that makes the Spider-Man homecoming the best Spider-Man movie so far:


  1. Backstory: I think everybody in the galaxy is aware of the story of ‘the boy and the radioactive spider’. Although it’s always fun to watch Peter getting bitten and discovering his new powers thereafter, but this time they have done a wise job by skipping that Part and also Uncle Ben’s death, which has not only saved a lot of crucial opening time but also gave space to other much more exciting Spidey adventures.tom
  2. More Peter Parker than ever: Peter Parker is a teenager and heretofore two great actors have played the role yet we’ve never seen justice being done with the character. A lot of people may have a problem with me declaring Tom Holland as the best Spider-Man/Peter Parker because most of us have a deep nostalgic relationship with Tobey Maguire’s Spider-Man including me, I grew up on that but let’s be honest guys, when Tobey was playing Spider-Man, he was 27, when the Amazing Andrew Garfield’s Spiderman came out, he was 28 and it turned out to be a disappointment but Tom Holland (21), he is the perfect Peter Parker. Tom Holland’s Pete is nerd to the core, he is naive, he is socially awkward with a foot still in childhood, he plays Legos with his nerd buddy Ned after school and he has a huge crush on Liz (Laura Harrier), a senior and this time he’s not carrying a camera every where he goes. He is just the way he is meant to be, awesome. Vlogging all the way through the Stark Tower and in the middle of the Civil War was hilarious, director Jon Watts has done a great great job establishing the character as an overwhelmingly excited kid who is just not used to being a Superhero.2017-07-17 (8)
  3. Not actually a superhero: You will not get a lot of swinging around in this movie because Spider-Man is not completely a superhero. He is a regular school going kid with everyday problems, he has to reach school in time, he has got homework, classwork and also Spanish Quizzes along with the back-breaking task of saving the city and proving himself worthy of being an avenger to Mr. Stark. The entire movie is basically about Peter trying to make a balance between his normal life and his superhero life. The simple reason why we could all relate to him is that he is one of us, the way we used to be in our high schools, impossible crush and a bully who never misses any chance to pick on.2017-07-17 (13)
  4. Not Alone: Pete in Spider-Man Homecoming is not a sad loner, he’s got friends and a mentor in Avengers, the Iron Man himself. He’s also got a friend, a sidekick, a confidant, Ned Leeds who is a tech genius and comes up with the stupid idea of impressing Liz with his super spider abilities. The Tony-Parker relationship is awesomely portrayed and is one of the most important aspects of this movie, Tony tries to be like a father for Peter, the type of father both of them never had.2017-07-17 (5)
  5. Costume: This movie has both, the worst and the best Spidey costume so far. The loose and ugly red and blue suit with a hoodie was the best Peter could make, which kind of makes sense. In all the other movies, Peter himself designs his spandex suit which raises questions, if he has such great designing skills, why da faq he sticks to low paying photography job for income?2017-07-17 (4)
    He obviously needed an upgrade, which was done by the ‘genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist’ Tony Stark. The high-tech Spider Man homecoming suit was the coolest suit ever, equipped with 576 web shooter combinations like Taser or Grenade webs, Lazor targeting system, web gliders, holographic display, GPS Tracking system, in-built parachute, artificial intelligence, better vision and with the spider emblem that is actually a drone. One of the best features for me was the vacuum fitting function which allows Peter to slip in and out of the costume very easily. Now you don’t have to wonder how does Peter fits in that thing.
    That is not it, at the end of the movie Peter is offered a new upgraded suit which was the BIGGEST EASTER EGG for Infinity War in the entire movie. The Iron Spider Suit which looked nothing like the comic version of the Iron Spider Suit, has been finally been revealed. The Iron Spider Suit is one bad ass armor whose secret wonders are yet to be unleashed. Beat that Batman!2017-07-17 (7)
  6. Comedy: Spidey is loved for his one-liners and hilarious punches, this movie took it to a whole new level. They have done a great job developing the character of Peter and certainly succeeded in making the most comic accurate Spider-Man ever, much better than the last one, who was very cocky and unfunny. He cannot keep his mouth shut while fighting and goes on messing up more often than not. That Vlogging scene was so amazingly hilarious that it had all the audience rolling in the aisles.liz
  7. Love Life: There was Liz who ultimately left the city, leaving behind Pete and his unfulfilled dreams. Except her, there was no Gwen Stacy or Mary Jane,wait!! Or was there?
    Remember the scene when the strange girl Mitchell says that her friends call her ‘MJ’, that had my spider sense tingling.mj
    What if she is MJ (Mitchell Jones/Mary Jane) in upcoming movies in the Spider-Man series, why else they would focus so much on a weird girl who likes to sketch people in crisis? What if this whole movie was a set-up to introduce MJ and show the relationship building between the two of them?

    What if this entire movie was a set-up to somehow make Spider-Man a part of the Avenger series?
    It makes sense because apart from the post-credit scene there was no big revelation, the movie was just a big wonderful ride in the city of New York where Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man is on the qui vive.


    The movie is not as intense as it was expected to be, the little action sequences were not choreographed well. Nowhere in the movie you feel like something big might happen, there was also very less swinging around. Usually in Hollywood movies, either New York City or the world is always on the verge of demolition, but in Spider-Man, you don’t feel like anything was at stake, the villain Adrian Toomes aka Vulture (played by Michael Keaton) was nothing more than an alien-scrap thief and a smuggler of weaponry. It may disappoint some people but according to me, that was a wise thing to do considering the immature character of Peter Parker who is still learning how to be a superhero.


    The post credit scene introduced Mac Gargan aka Scorpion and also raised a very crucial question, Adrian refused that he knows the real identity of Spider-Man upon asking by Mac, which could mean that either he had a change of heart which is highly unlikely or he is planning something more terrible.


    According to me every frame of the movie was enjoyable and if you have not watched it,
    why do you do this to yourself?

A friend with weed is a friend indeed…

Confession needs to be made that I’ve rolled only three-four times in my life, I’ve my friends for this crucial task. My first few weeks in college went into recruiting people and on the very first day, I met him, the master of the art of rolling. BHANDari is every stoner in the world, he is skinny, by which I mean his pointy shoulders are hanging by the support of collar bones of the shape of chopsticks, his Adam’s Apple at the verge of jumping out of his throat along with long hairs, a pair of ever bloodshot eyes and completely blank deadpan face.
In a group of stoners, you can freely be yourself, nobody is going to judge you. Stoners are nothing but free thinking liberal pacifist people who believe in making joints, not war. People fighting after getting drunk; very common, people killing each other after sniffing cocaine; happens every day, Meth heads running car over people; happens very often but have you ever heard of a pot smokers raising his voice at another smoker? The worst he can do is to eat all your nachos and not laugh at your joke.
So grab your pot, ignite the tail and take a shot and enlighten yourself why pot heads make amazing friends:
tom and jerry high af

  1. The Warm Welcome:  Ever since my seniors got to know that I am one of them, every once in a while some guy just appears out of nowhere while I’m walking through the corridor and asks me ‘Bruh, you want some?’
    You are a newborn to the community and needs to be fed well, so they babysit you,

    they take care of all your needs
    and teach you how to remove seeds
    or how to identify the unadulterated of em’ all
    as well as how to crush the weed
    and make sure to update your playlist with Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin,
    so you listen to it until your ear bleeds
    yes, they are the true-blue allies indeed.
    (still a better rap than yo yo who-dafaq Singh)

    my turn

  2. Equality: The pot head community is the most accepting one. No matter who you are, from which class, color, caste, religion, creed, species or planet you belong to, if you smoke, they are there for you, always ready to give you a hand in wrapping up 40-45 minutes of visa into a world of amplified sound and distorted vision in a four-inch of Odet Cascadec Ballore (OCB). They enlighten you about the holiness of the sacred grass that is crushed and smoked, the pilgrimages they have done to Manali and Himachal for it, the medicinal benefits and so on, so that you also start to believe that world can’t run without two things; oxygen and weed.tumblr_o37v2q80QL1v8z7nxo1_500
  3. Innovative: The world of stoners is ever-evolving, long ago Indian Sadhus used to chill in the Himalayas with a Chillum filled with hash, tobacco and of course cannabis. What Red Wine is to Catholics, as what Chillum is to our savage Sadhus. This holy tradition passed on to the younger generations and soon we had a paper entirely dedicated to roll up and smoke, but that was never enough for our parched lungs. Our innovation transcending all the human-made limits that said ‘used coke bottles are of no reuse’ and led to the invention of the most sophisticated of all, the abode of ecstasy, Bong, which looks like a chemistry lab equipment. Made with just an empty bottle, an empty pen tube, a Chillum holder and lots of happiness, Bong is the epitome of innovation and recycling. And my rolling buddies took their innovation and Eco-friendliness a little too far and created history. Never before in the history of robberies a bunch of people broke-in an ATM not for cash, but for cash receipts that ATMs spits out after every transaction. Never before in the history of addiction a bunch of high-spirited guys broke-in a closed ATM at midnight because apparently the ATM slips are thin enough and perfectly shaped.bag o weee
  4. Emotionally Available: Some people say that lovers holding hands and walking towards the sunset with broad smiles that says ‘and they lived happily ever after’ is the most heart-touching thing, I say ‘Bullshit!!! Have you ever seen a stoner telling his stoner buddy who is having a BT ‘Sab theek ho jayeega bhaai, acha acha soch!’? That’s the most heart-warming thing man because we men are terrible at expressing ourselves. It is when our lungs are filled with smoke and our mind flooded with triggered dopamine, we behave the most emotionally.

    If you want a marry a guy;
    ask him when he is high.
    (here we go, again a better rap line)

My first official date and how I effed it up

A fine Saturday Summer morning and all I wanted was some food and cold beer, but the almighty Cupid was planning something more for me. This is what I did and what millions of other people do all across the globe every day when they wake up, I woke up, I felt sad for waking up, I unlocked my phone and checked my messages and that’s when the fine Saturday morning took a dramatic turn. I saw her messages ‘Hey there, u free today?’…and those who can read between the lines will understand that this can mean anything, from come to my place and let’s make out to go to China and bring me some Hakka Noodles. Unaware of the threat, I replied ‘Yes I am.’ with optimism and one smiley.
‘We have been texting for very long, I want to see you’ she said.
And my nervous system freaked out and started to bombard my brain with multiple questions, genuine questions regarding her message like “Is this a date, is this a joke, is this a prank or is she trying to kidnap me?”
A gorgeous fresh designer graduate ….asking me out for a date in a country with the sex ratio of 944 girls per 1000 boys is an achievement in itself.
So as I mentioned, it was summer, she decided the best time to meet would be 3 pm so that we could go out and come back with third-degree burns.
Punctuality is a concept we Indians can never understand, we fix a time so that both the parties could come sufficiently late with stupid excuses like my dog peed on my shoes or Russian Mafia kidnapped me. Seriously why are we always late? Except for the only event where timing matters, we Indian men come early (pun intended).
Anyway, I knew she will not come on time, so I’d brought everything to entertain myself with in the meanwhile. I rotated my fidget spinner, updated status on Facebook, clicked dozens of selfies, went on a word tour, killed Kim Jong-un and came back and then she called me.
“I’m so sorry, I’ll be a little late”
WTF woman!! What is taking you so long? I told you to take the metro, not a bullock cart.
Finally, she arrived after 45 minutes, exactly 10 minutes after I was done with all the crucial work that was keeping me engaged, like updating all the apps from Google play store, counting the stairs and watching strangers watch me watching them coming inside and outside of the metro station.
We took an auto for our evening Delhi tour. I skipped elaborating the part of our awkward meeting when I extended my sweaty hands with a creepy smile and she just looked at me with a scandalized expression.
We exchanged hellos and the usual conversation started and I asked her how is work going?
Till then I didn’t know that you can answer this simple question with a nine page long essay, she told me everything, everything from how her college was, how her internship went, how her new job is going, how she is planning to open an NGO, how skinny pants are different from tapered trousers…fucking EVERYTHING. For the last twenty years, till then, my knowledge about the designing field was confined to what Bollywood has shown us, that the designing industry is full of drug addicts and horny gay people trying to fuck each other, but in that twenty minutes I realized that designing industry is much more than that, it also includes crazy designers with OCDs who cannot stop talking.
Somehow we reached the Ugrasen ki Baoli where I took her down to the well and showed her hundreds of bats hanging from the ceiling and she screamed and I thought something would happen like it happens in Bollywood movies, girl falls, the guy catches her in his arms, violins start playing in the background but Alas! Nothing happened.
Then we went to the Red Fort, the ugly red building where Mughals used to play snooker.


I showed her the big open fields where Akbar used to take Jodha Begum on a horse ride and they used to have their little tickle time behind the trees. I thought this might trigger some love hormones inside her, but nothing happened. And deep inside I was hoping that in the end, she doesn’t reveal that she likes women because then my inner self will be like “I told you so”. All these efforts of making a girl fall in love with me were tiresome and I was hungry, and my ears were bleeding after listening to the stories from her Kerala Trip fifth time since we met. So we went to the only cafe in the Red Fort campus, where everything is overpriced and tastes like shit and I ordered a couple of Burgers stuffed with some fried yellow shit and some red and green shit on the top with coke. Wandering was done, eating was done, the only thing that was left undone was my charm to work on her. She still showed no sign of interest in me. We sat down on the freshly cut grass and started talking about Random things, from our school life to movies to her life, her future plans and her list of favorite places. We were having a serious discussion over movies when she said something, something so irrational and fallacious that it still leaves me offended when I try to recall that horrific moment. My hands are shaking, my heart is thumping hard and I’m covered in my own puke while I’m writing this unbelievably ridiculous comment of hers. She actually said that the Harry Potter movies are better than the books. This is the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard. “Go back to the cave where you’ve come from you brainless duck-face” I wanted to say this but I remained silent and waited for the evening to end. She kept on saying some other stupid things but I remained silent. She looked uncomfortable because of my sudden silence, but I remained silent. Nobody talks shit about Harry Potter and then expects me to talk back. Before that, I was thinking of booking an Uber and dropping her but hell no, I changed my mind, I will take an auto and you go hop on the bullock cart you’d arrived by.
I went back home and decided to never go on a date again on Saturday. But the next morning I was feeling bad about it. I want to go on another date because now my right-hand hurts,




by constantly swiping right on Tinder.

Life Sucks? Get a Roommate!


I’m talking about the guy who uses up all your hot water and puts his dirty clothes on your side of the cupboard. I live 700 miles away from my home with a guy who happily uses my soap, my towel and sometimes my boxers and vice versa. Four years ago I moved to Delhi for usual kind of stuff, perfecting the art of rolling joints while completing my college and getting a job. In the process, I had to share my place with many different third world people of different choice of TV series and IQ.
My history of sharing a house with other Homo sapiens goes back to my early childhood when I was forced to share my small room with a smaller human whom they labeled as my sister. I spent most of the time convincing that small round and loud human with a rampant excretory system that she is from another world and my parents have just picked her up from a dustbin on the roadside, or building a spaceship to send her back to the planet of small and round wailing heads, where she belonged, especially when she got all the attention from my parents just by making a noisy howl like a puppy run over by a lawn mower.
Then after more than a decade, I moved to the cosmopolitan jungle of Delhi and for survival, I had to live with people, many times complete strangers, strangers with a possible career background in serial killing or cannibalism. But I rose above my fear of unfamiliar faces and their different taste of music.
I have lived with a guy who had once screwed the maid, and then with a guy who showered once in a week, then with a homo and then in a PG with a bunch of desperate weirdos who used to work all night, sleep all day and plan Goa trips every other weekend.
I have done enough jumping from apartment to apartment (8 apartments) in the last four years. Although I love to live alone so that I don’t have to alter my bathroom schedule because of somebody else’s, neither I have to stay dressed when I’m home, however, a 1 BHK flat in South Delhi is still an amenity for a struggling writer.
Despite his extreme obsession with big-eyed and pointy head Japanese cartoons they like to call ‘अनिमे’, I’m pleasantly surprised that we get along very well. From making morning tea to cooking the most exquisite chicken dishes, he is the ideal roommate in all the aspects of roommat-ing except that he doesn’t roll. He has actually made me realize that having someone by your side to talk about random shit or watch an episode of The Big Bang Theory late night or sleeping until late afternoon is not such a bad idea.
Here are three reasons, why having roommate is better than living alone and fapping all day:


  1. Hammered: Apart from the obvious reason that your rent and food bill split into two, there are several other reasons helpful enough to make you get a room partner. It’s a Saturday evening and you’re already hammered, who is gonna stop you from jumping off the rooftop, or drunk dialing your ex? Although this does not happen with me, I’m quite good at controlling myself, and you can’t just tell by looking at me that I’m under the influence until I open my mouth and speak, because when I do, random words come out that does not make any sense. I then need someone to answer my calls before my mom starts thinking that somebody has either kidnapped or killed me and call the police, after three consecutive calls I miss. He never volunteered for this job but yeah, we don’t have an option.talk crap
  2. Bitch-ing Please: We are men and we bitch, yes we do. Gals, it’s not only yours extracurricular, we also sometimes talk crap about our girlfriends, their friends, our friends, teachers, government, Jon Snow, etceteras. We need an equally fed up guy who will reply you with equally shitty statements, and besides talking crap, we are always in a need of a second opinion on our work, on our outfit, on whether or not India will win the match and just about everything. He is the extra Grey Matter I sometimes need.                                                                   A Big ugly Spider
  3. Killing fucking Spiders: Spiders are creepy little hideous creatures with eight long sting-like disgusting legs and every once in a while these repulsive little creatures crawl out of nowhere inside my washroom to kill me with its exceptionally grotesque appearance. The only thing that I abhor so intensely from my heart is a freaking spider and I am not capable of killing them because of one of my strange fears that the spider might jump on me and crawl inside my nose. So this herculean task of annihilating a freaking resilient spider belongs to my roommate.